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| Issue #11 May 2006 |
"Swinging in the Rain" Written by John Bush |
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“Could this maybe have waited until I sewed my costume back up? I really felt all the cold air through the rips. I’m probably going to catch pneumonia – it was frickin freezing out there. Plus I’m injured. See this blood? ALL MINE. You know how I know? Spider-Slayer robots don’t bleed, that’s how I know. And another thing –”
“Christ almighty, do you never stop?” the grizzled colonel Fury groaned, rubbing his left temple. He stared at the hero clad in pajama bottoms. Two SHIELD stealth choppers patrolled the air around the apartment. No one could see or hear them, but Fury could only suppose that there was a reason they were called “stealth” choppers. Dum Dum Dugan brought his mouth close to Nick’s ear.
“Hurry it up, there, Nick. Yeh got places t’be.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fury hissed back, then, turning to Spider-Man, “First of all, no, this can’t wait. We need you to do something for us. Put some pants on and meet me on the roof.”
“Don’t I have to say yes first?”
“No.”
***********
Ten minutes later found Spider-Man in his tattered rags, standing on the roof of his apartment building in the rain. At least twenty SHIELD agents patrolled the rooftop, and three stood behind Nick Fury himself, holding up his umbrella. Nick Fury took the cigar out of his mouth.
“Got a job for you, webhead.”
“Don’t you have people to do it? I mean, you’ve got like three guys holding your umbrella. You’ve got to have a guy that can do whatever you need me for, and, if you don’t, then I would like to ask why my tax dollars are being spent on Nick Fury’s personal umbrella holder team instead of, say, they guy who does the dangerous missions we would otherwise need to ask Spider-Man to do.”
“Did I say talk? I don’t think I said talk,” Nick said, taking a drag on is cigar and looking as mean as he possibly could, “This is no laughing matter, Parker. We need you, and it has to be you. There are many reasons for this, but you don’t need to know any of them. You just need to do what I tell you, and then you can go on your merry way.”
“I don’t think I really have to do any-”
“You do if you don’t want J. Jonah Jameson and a dozen other newspaper editors to receive photos marked ‘Spider-Man taking off his mask’ tomorrow morning, Parker.”
“You’re blackmailing me? That’s just not –”
“Shut up, Parker. I’m talking. Do you know what this is?” Fury asked, holding up what looked like a small digital camera, though it was no model Peter Parker had ever seen. Spider-Man scratched his head, but he didn’t say anything.
“What the hell… why have you suddenly gone mute, wall-crawler?” Fury hissed, replacing the camera in his coat pocket.
“You told me not to say anything.”
“Keep it up, smartass, keep it up. I don’t have a lot of time, and I’ve come here to ask you to do this because I like you –”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“Because I like you, and I didn’t want to have to resort to the other ways we have to make you do what I want. And there are other ways – many of them, and none of them are very pleasant. We have a lot of sway with a lot of people, and I will use it if I have to. Now, are you going to cooperate?”
“Yes,” Spider-Man said weakly. He could feel Fury’s one eye burning a hole in his forehead, or maybe that was the throbbing pain from the possible concussion he had sustained a few hours ago. He could feel the aches all over his body – bruises, cuts, broken bones. He was certainly in no condition to be swinging all over the city at the behest of rude super-spies. Spider-Man sneezed once. Pneumonia. I knew it, he thought to himself while Nick Fury started yelling at him again.
“Good to hear it. This is a camera. We need you to take it, break into what may or may not be a highly guarded facility, and take pictures of some very sensitive documents. Realize that these documents will be highly classified, and we’ll probably have to wipe your memory when it’s all over. Do you understand the mission?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll give you the rest of the details en route.”
“En route? To where? I’m doing this now?”
“Yes.”
“In this costume?” Peter asked, tugging at the scraps of cloth hanging from his bruised torso.
“We brought you a fresh one. And some band-aids.”
“Was that a joke, or do you actually expect me to treat my wounds with band-aids?”
“What, I can’t joke?”
“Not when your face is a terrifying mix of Clint Eastwood and the Terminator - the scary robot part, not the slightly friendlier but not by much Arnold part. Seriously, children must cry whenever you walk by. Ghost Rider looks friendlier than you. The Punisher has more people skills. Charles Manson -”
“Enough. Get on the chopper,” Fury grunted before mumbling something about telling jokes whenever he goddamn wanted to. Spider-Man looked around the roof.
“Uh… Nick? What chopper?”
“That one over there,” Fury said, pointing to a large empty spot on the rooftop. Spider-Man started to say something but was cut short by a shimmer in the air – the view of Manhattan got darker, then a little darker, and disappeared behind a large black chopper.
“That’s where the tax dollars are going, bug.”
“…Can I have one?”
***********
Spider-Man listened to the hum of the helicopter’s motor as it sped towards its destination. He stared across the aisle, into Nick Fury’s eye. Neither man said anything, so the team of SHIELD agents kept quiet, too. It was Spider-Man that finally broke the silence.
“There’s a highly guarded terrorist facility in an office building in New Jersey?”
“We think so, yeah.”
“Well, that makes me feel so much better now, doesn’t it?”
“Makes no difference to me how you feel, wall-crawler.”
“I hadn’t noticed. Anyway, what am I looking for again?”
“Evidence of a conspiracy to assassinate a high-ranking U.N. official.”
“Which one?”
“We don't know.”
“So how will I know which file to photograph?”
“It will be the one with the assassination plot outlined in it.”
“So I’m just supposed to read through all the files until I find something about an assassination?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no better way of doing this?”
“Our resources are being spent elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“Classified.”
Spider-Man sighed to himself and slouched down in his seat.
“Didn’t you say you had a suit for me to change into?” the tired web-slinger asked. Nick Fury tossed him a briefcase, which Spider-Man opened. Inside was a pristine copy of the black costume. Spider-Man arched one eyebrow under his mask.
“I, uh… I don’t wear this one anymore. It made me look fat.”
“Dark colors are better for this sort of thing.”
“Dark colors… you mean like the giant white spider in the middle of it?”
“Just put it on.”
“Here? In front of these people?”
“We’re all grown-ups here, lad,” a jovial looking, red-haired man sitting next to Nick Fury chimed in. Fury actually cracked a smile, which only made Spider-Man feel more uncomfortable. Peter only sighed, and decided to put it on over what was left of the old costume, while horrible visions of the high school locker room ran through his head.
***********
“I don’t see any office buildings around here. This actually looks kind of like a forest,” a confused Spider-Man blurted out, “And what did you make this costume out of? It itches like crazy.”
Nick Fury grimaced, and had to remind himself that he needed the wall-crawler for this mission. The chopper had in fact landed in a clearing in a small patch of forest one mile from the target building. Unfortunately, the web-slinger didn’t make it easy to give an explanation. He took a long drag on his fifth cigar of the night, and dropped the burnt butt to the ground. As he snuffed the butt out, he drew another cigar from his front jacket pocket, and, turning to Dum Dum Dugan, he puffed a few times as the burly Irishman gave him a light.
“Building’s a mile that way, bug,” Fury said, pointing to his left, “It’ll be the tallest one you see. Office we need you to get into is on the fourth floor, third window from the left. We’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re done, then we’ll take you back to the city and it’ll all be over.”
“I can only hope,” the wall-crawler replied, thwipping a webline to the nearest oak tree. He swung away into the forest, quickly disappearing from the eyes of remaining SHIELD agents. Once Fury was sure Spider-Man was out of hearing, he turned to Dugan and spoke in a low whisper.
“When he gets back, knock him out and wipe the memory of this mission, then drop him back in his apartment,” Fury said. Dugan nodded dutifully as the grizzled colonel walked towards the chopper. A large Humvee rolled out the back, complete with Fury’s bodyguard entourage. The passenger side door swung open, and Nick climbed in quietly. He nodded at the driver, who backed into the clearing and pressed a small red button. Wings popped out of either side of the Hummer, and the hissing sound of a jet engine firing up echoed through the woods as the trunk opened, revealing the sleek jets. Slowly, the jeep rose into the air until it cleared the trees, where it roared off towards the city. Dum Dum Dugan watched the entire process, and then sat on a nearby tree stump. It would be quite a wait until the wall-crawler got back.
***********
“That was pretty easy, actually,” Spider-Man said, descending from a tree, “Hardly took me ten minutes to get in, then another ten to find the file – guy left it right on his desk. And, hey, did you know that the –”
“We did, son, we just needed confirmation from yeh,” the jovial-looking Dugan replied, “And I’m sorry ‘bout this, lad.”
“Sorry about what?”
“This,” Dugan said, holding up what looked like a small MP3 player. He pressed a small button near the top, and the wall-crawler’s spider-sense went berserk as he heard a small sizzling sound coming from somewhere very close to him – so close, he might as well have been making the noise himself.
“The heEEEEAAARGH!” Spider-Man yelled as several thousand volts poured into his body by way of the large white spider on his chest. It took only a few seconds to send Spidey to the ground. The confused SHIELD agents gathered around the collapsed hero, looking from Spidey, to Dugan, then back again.
“Sir…? What was that for?” one young agent asked.
“Can’t let him see where the memory wiping facility is. Load him onto the chopper, boyos,” Dugan said.
“But… why did we go through all this trouble to get him to do this? It seems to me that any one of us could have done this job just as well,” the same agent responded. Dugan turned to the young man with a sinisterly friendly look on his face.
“Wouldn’t do for one o’ our boys t’be seen breakin’ inta a civilian office.”
“And what if someone saw Spider-Man?”
“S’why we gave him the black costume and’re wipin’ his memory, boyo. We can always just say it was – ah, what’s that crazy sod’s name? – Venom. ‘Sides, it don’t hurt that he can scale a sheer wall without riskin’ lots o’ expensive technology.”
“Still doesn’t make any sense to me,” the young man said.
“That’s why ye’re still a grunt, boyo. Now load this lad onta th’ chopper. He won’t be out for much longer,” Dugan said, losing his friendly demeanor. The agents all hopped to, with two agents each wrapping one of Spider-Man’s arms around themselves. The team piled into the chopper and strapped themselves in for the journey.
***********
The rays of sun on his face made Peter Parker feel more relaxed than he had in ages. Sure, the dull aches still lingered around all the bruises and cuts, and he was pretty sure one or more of his ribs was still cracked (though it felt like it had been set and healing for a night or two, not fresh), but he felt like he had been asleep for days. Rubbing his face vigorously with his hands, Peter sat up in bed; his apartment was a mess, and a large Irishman sat in the corner. Clothes cluttered the – wait.
“Who the…? Oh, you’re Fury’s guy… what’s-his-name,” Peter said groggily.
“Name’s Dugan, boyo.”
“Yeah… why are you here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love waking up to a good redhead every now and then, but this… this isn’t what I usually have in mind.”
“Just makin’ sure yuir alright, lad,” Dugan said in a friendly tone. Peter rubbed the back of his head a few times, and let his confusion show on his face. Finally, he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Alright,” Peter said, “Is there something you need?”
“What do yeh remember of the last two days?”
“Getting the crap kicked out of me by giant robots.”
“Good ta hear, sonny. Well, I’ll be getting’ along, then. G’bye, Mr. Parker. I hope ye enjoyed yuir two-day rest, and don’t forget yeh need to be at work in half an hour.”
Dugan left the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Peter looked at the clock; 7:00 AM, but he had gone to sleep on Friday, he was sure of that, at least. He couldn’t have slept for two days, could he? He quickly grabbed the remote and clicked on the news.
“…a beautiful Monday morning, Jim. Clear skies and temperatures in the fifties…”
“It is Monday,” Peter wondered aloud. He jumped out of bed and scrambled to the closet. Finding a clean pair of pants a pressed shirt, he threw them both on and grabbed a tie as he sped out the bedroom door. There was no time to brush his teeth, so he grabbed a pack of Dentine, his briefcase, and his wallet off the kitchen counter as he headed for the door to the apartment. He found his keys in his pockets (not a clean pair of pants after all, he guessed), and locked up after he left. He would have to take the subway, since his costume was in no condition to allow him to swing all the way to the school.
***********
“Mr. Parker! So glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence!” principal Muniz bellowed down the hall. Peter turned around sheepishly, smiling weakly.
“Yeah… I, uh, had some stuff going on recently. It’s all over with, mostly. I hope.”
Peter stumbled over his words – his head felt a little fuzzy, and his vision was still a little blurry. Probably just side effects from too many hits on the head, but he decided to head over to the Night Nurse for a check-up that night, just in case.
“That’s a nasty shiner, Mr. Parker – is everything all right?” Muniz asked, hardening his gaze.
“Wha – yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just, uh… got mugged over the weekend. Guy didn’t get anything, though – I was just out jogging,” Peter laughed as he finished the sentence – he felt it in his ribcage. It was still pretty sore. The principal looked back at him with the same iron face a thousand tardy students had buckled under so many times before.
“If you say so, Parker. First period starts in five.”
“Right. I know,” Peter said as the large man turned away. He sighed and made a left turn, heading for his homeroom class – freshman biology.
***********
“…and for homework tonight, do the review questions as the end of chapter 11. All of them.”
A loud groan rose from the class just before the bell rang. Peter Parker smiled to himself as all of his students shuffled for the door – his head had cleared up over time during the day. In fact, he felt great! His muscles were a little sore, but he was relaxed enough that he didn’t really notice. He leaned back in his chair a little and kicked his feet onto his desk. It had been a good school day, felt good to not get the snot kicked out of him by robots or people dressed like animals every few hours. He smiled to himself as the last of the students walked out of the room, and then brought his feet back to the floor and gathered up the notes on his desk, shoving them into his briefcase. He clasped that shut, and headed for the door himself, eager to get home and start sewing up his costume.
Before he could get out the door, however, a young girl came wandering up to the door and waved meekly at the teacher.
“Hey, Carla,” Peter said cheerfully, “You alright?”
“Yeah, Mr. Parker, I just… uh… could I ask you a question?”
“Sure. I know this stuff can be kind of tricky at first, but once you get into it a little more it’ll be easier – ”
“No, not about class. Your eye…”
“Oh, this… I just, uh,” Peter stumbled. What had he told the principal earlier this morning? “I got mugged – when I was jogging. No big deal, I’ll be fine.”
“Really? Because you look kind of banged up, and I thought maybe –”
“No, it’s nothing. Really. I’ll just have to bring some mace or something next time. I don’t know why I never got some in the first place!” Peter forced himself to chuckle a little bit. Carla looked at her shoes for a few seconds.
“Did you need anything else?” Peter asked.
“No. See you tomorrow,” the girl said softly, turning around and walking around the corner. Peter scratched his head and walked in the opposite direction, toward the main office. He hadn’t picked up his paycheck last week, and he had noticed this morning that he really, really needed it.
***********
The door to his apartment creaked open, like it always did, but this time, Peter Parker didn’t mind. He stepped quickly through the doorway and listened as the door creaked shut behind him. He tossed his briefcase onto the kitchen counter, and threw his wallet and keys on top of it. Walking to his bedroom, he loosened his tie and tossed it onto his bed. He made his way to the closet, where he hoped to find his sewing kit; instead, he found something more interesting. Right inside, on a white plastic hangar, hung a brand-new Spidey-suit. The red and blue fabric was stitched together professionally, the webs sewed on with skill he couldn’t even have dreamt of.
Scratching his head, Peter noticed a small post-it note stuck to the mask. He pulled it off, and read it aloud.
“Sorry for the headache, boyo. Here’s a little something to show our appreciation. –Dum Dum Dugan. Huh. Appreciation for what? Ah, whatever. I’m sure it won’t come back to haunt me. Aw, who am I kidding – I should probably just throw the damn thing away before Venom, Jr. springs out of it. But… I don’t really see my old costume around here... guess I have no choice. Oh well, I hate sewing anyway.”
Peter hastily unbuttoned his shirt and took his khaki pants, replacing them just as fast with spandex and web-shooters. His window slid open as easily as it always had, and he felt a wave of relief as he threw himself out into the fresh breeze. He shot a web to the top of the building and climbed it as fast as he could, vaulting himself onto the roof. He ran to the other side of the roof and leapt over the edge, plummeting towards the roof of the adjacent building. He landed gracefully, and rolled forward, leaping out of his crouch and firing a webline to the top of the next building. He swung around to the front of the building, and continued following the road. I live for this, Spider-Man thought to himself as he turned left, heading for downtown Manhattan.
***********
“Great set, MJ! Just great, baby,” Andres praised, lowering his camera, “You’re beautiful babe, just beautiful. That’s all we need for the day. Am I going to see you at the release party for the new Thom Cruz movie tonight?”
Mary Jane slid a robe onto her shoulders, covering up the uncomfortable red bikini underneath. She shook her hair out and tied the robe closed before answering.
“Sorry, Andres. I’m heading back to New York tonight.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, sugar. I hear the gift bags are unbelievable.”
“They probably are. I just have some… things to take care of back home.”
“Things? Like talking the Parker out of Mary Jane Watson-Parker?”
“…I don’t know, Andres. We’ll have to see how it works out.”
“You’ve got my number if you need to talk… though I may be at Bruce’s place tomorrow morning, if you know what I mean,” the photographer giggled. MJ smiled back and shook her head.
“I’ve got his number, too. But really, I’m mostly going back for the Perfect Man movie negotiations. They want me to play Louisa Lorraine!”
“Ooooh! Super! Good luck with that, sweetie.”
“Thanks.”
***********
“You’re sure this is accurate?”
“It’s what the webhead gave us, Nick.”
Nick Fury narrowed his eye at the burly Irishman sitting across the desk from him. He tapped his left index finger in time with the ticks of the clock.
“Well, I suppose that’s as accurate as we’re going to get, then. Have you reviewed all the tactical options?”
“Yessir, Nicky. Got it all planned out.”
“Good, then. Take whatever resources and men you need, just get the job done.”
“Yessir,” Dugan said, drawing out his radio, “Lieutenant Briggs? Scramble your team. Standard pre-mission operations.”
“Yes, sir,” Briggs responded over the radio, “The U.N. general assembly room will be secured by morning. No one’s getting into the secretary general’s speech tomorrow without going through at least four dozen security measures.”
***********
Peter sighed contentedly as he crawled back into the window and drew off his mask. He smiled slightly as he began pulling off his shirt and tossed it onto the bed, next to the shirt he had worn to school. He noticed that the light on his machine was blinking, so he walked over and pushed the button.
“You - have – one – new – messages. Message – one. *Beeeep* Peter, it’s Mary Jane. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow, and I was wondering if we could talk about… everything that’s happened. I… I really need to talk to you, Tiger, if just to get some questions answered. Call me back. You’ve got the number.”
Peter’s smile grew wider as he hit the repeat button. It was good to hear her voice again, even if it was on the crappy quality of the answering machine tape. Before the machine could start to replay the message, though, the phone rang. Stopping the machine, Peter picked up the receiver.
“This is Peter.”
“Parker! Just the man I wanted to hear!” a gruff, familiar voice barked through the phone.
“Jonah… great to hear from you.”
Peter grimaced as he talked. Why couldn’t he be listening to MJ again? And not in a weird stalker way – he wasn’t quite that pathetic – it was just genuinely good to hear her voice.
“Yeah, yeah. Can the small talk. Phone bills are killing me as it is. Look, I need a photographer, and all I got here are second-rate amateurs and morons who couldn’t tell a front page shot from a first-grader’s retarded scribbling.”
“Well, I’m glad you thought of me, but,” Peter started, but then he remembered his bank balance, “But… you know I’d do anything for you Jonah.”
“Great! Perfect! I knew I could count on you, Parker! You’ve always been like a son to me, a real stand-up guy! Robbie! Haven’t I always said that about Parker? What? Well, you can shut the #$*% up, Robertson! You’re a damned liar! Get me the proofs for the front page. I need to see them.”
“Uh, Jonah…?”
“Right. Parker. I need you to get pictures of the secretary general’s speech.”
“Sure thing, Jonah. Usual rates?”
“… We’ll see what you bring me, Parker. Drop by the office tomorrow and pick up your press pass. Speech starts at five. Robertson! Where the #$% are those –” *click*
“Nice talking to you, too, JJ,” Peter laughed, hanging up the phone. He finished taking off his costume and headed for the bathroom – nothing topped off a rousing night of webslinging like a hot shower.
****END****
Well, that was my first issue, folks. Why not head over to the message board and give me your thoughts? Then come back next month when one of Spider-Man’s oldest foes makes his comeback. Which one? The one that always creeped me out the most when I was a kid. Still don’t know? GOOD. I’d hate to ruin the surprise.
